"Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promised."
SHAKSPEARE.
The difference between hope and fruition is a hacknied theme, and there
are few pleasures belonging to man, of which it may not be said, with
Congreve, that
"'Tis expectation makes the blessing dear."
Scarcely had Zorilda bid adieu to the friends whose society had
afforded that fulness and variety of enjoyment which constitute the
longest as well as most delightful measure of remembered time, when in
an hour of such desolation as a heart like hers, alive to the strongest
impressions, could alone experience; the current of her grief was
disturbed, as is the rivulet's gentle flow, when a fragment from the
mountain side dashes into the midst of the stream, breaking its silent
waters into a thousand troubled eddies.
A letter from Algernon came to announce his intended return, and one
brief fortnight would now give him back to the eyes and heart of her
whose agitated spirits bore speaking testimony to the powerful hold
which he possessed on her affections.
Two years had intervened since our hero left Henbury for Oxford. He had
contrived, on various pretences, to lengthen his stay at Paris, till
the University appeared to be altogether abandoned. Mrs. Hartland felt
her son's absence severely, but it was some consolation to believe that
he was extending his connections advantageously amongst people whose
rank and consequence were conformable to the future dignity of his
prospects. She likewise trusted, that present sacrifice of his society
would be repaid by the perfect cure of his first love.
Algernon never failed to flatter the weakness of his parents, and while
time and money were wasted in profligacy, a list of distinguished names
deceived them, gratified their vanity, and cheated them, through a
series of vaunting lies, into the fond assurance, that their darling
was the principal ornament of the Court of France. He had quarrelled
with the Marquess of Turnstock, but concealed his separation from him,
and the true motive of his present design to re-visit home at this
moment, was in order to anticipate conjecture which might naturally
arise when his Lordship's arrival in England unaccompanied by him,
would lead to inquiry why they had parted from each other after being
the "Castor and Pollux" of Oxford.
Zorilda had indeed often wondered at the frigid nature of that
affection which could impose upon itself the pangs and penalties of
such lengthened absence. She had often asked herself what spell had the
power to charm the wanderer, and would then chide her heart for its
jealous doubts. The intervals between Algernon's letters were much
increased since he commenced his foreign travel, but Zorilda could
account for this. "He knows that I have no money, and would spare me
his mother's reproaches for the cost of frequent postage," said the
innocent Zoé, who judged of others by herself. Every letter, too, when
tried by the test which revealed its hidden sentiments, contained
assurance of undying love which kindred flames developed, when, spite
of her prohibition, inspired by
"Hope, kind cheat, fair fallacy,"
she held the paper to the fire, "pardoning the treason for the
traitor's sake."
Zorilda's quick penetration had also remarked sundry abbreviations and
blots in Algernon's late _despatches_, which might be truly so called
in every sense of the word, and sighed as she recollected that a
celebrated Madame de Staal, who lived in the age of Louis Quinze, had
discovered the refrigeration of a lover's affection, in his voluntary
choice of a short road when he used to conduct her home to her
convent, after passing the day with her friends in Paris. Two sides of
the triangle which formed the court of the convent would have afforded
a longer _tête-à-tête_ than the diagonal; yet the lover abridged
opportunity by preferring the diagonal, and the young Frenchwoman at
once decided that he had ceased to be one, and would see him no more.
She was right, but though Zorilda felt the shortened words as much as
Madame de Staal in her youth had felt the shortened way, she pleaded
unavoidable haste, to excuse all apparent negligence or contempt,
though the acuteness of her sensibility made her alive to the slightest
change of temperature in affection. Even had her reasoning been more
severe, it would not have stood proof against the first sound of the
carriage wheels which announced Algernon's arrival within the gates of
Henbury. The most subtile arguments are but feeble weapons when opposed
to true love, when the latter is re-inforced by presence of the beloved
object. One look is sufficient to put to flight a world of reasoning,
and Zorilda did not wait to see her truant, before her beating heart
proclaimed full pardon of every omission or commission of which he had
ever been guilty. Algernon's letter inclosed an open note, which his
mother as usual read before she suffered it to leave her hands. To
_her_ eyes it only contained a few careless words, calculated to
lull every apprehension of repose. She could find nothing more than--
"Dear Zo, I am coming and am in too great a bustle to say more than
a few words. I am longing to see all my four-footed favourites.
Send to Norton for my greyhound and setters, which I left with him;
and tell him that I expect their _education to be finished_ by
the time I see them again. I long also to re-visit my hawks and
pheasants, which you have been nursing for me; and I long to see
you too, and tell you of all my adventures. Your's truly, dear Zo,
in _fire_ haste, A. H."
Mrs. Hartland contrasted this meagre demonstration with the "dearest
mother" and "most affectionate son," addressed to herself, and
presented this blotted billet to the blushing girl with an air of
triumph.
Zorilda read it without making any comment, but longed to be alone to
try whether "fire haste" might not extract something more from the
paper which she held in her trembling hand.
The intelligent reader has, no question, often remarked, that people
whose tempers are not governed by any other director than their
passions, are kind or unkind to others as they happen to be pleased or
displeased themselves. This was Mrs. Hartland's habit, and Zorilda's
patience was often put to severe trial; but the mother's spirits were
now elated, and all around shared their _couleur de rose_. She folded
up her packet, and smiling benignantly on her young friend, desired
her to go, and give the necessary orders to prepare for her son's
return.
"Algernon will be of age on the 25th," said Mrs. Hartland, "and this
is an event of importance in my family. If he comes before his
birthday, we shall have a double joy to celebrate. Childish things
must henceforth be put away, and my son must now assume the manly
character in which he is called from this time to act a new part upon
the stage of life; aye, and I trust also a _distinguished_ one. The
boyish follies of Algernon's early youth are no longer to be
remembered, and one-and-twenty is an age----"
The young Spaniard's eloquent cheek and eye were beginning to betray a
painful consciousness of the secret meaning which these words were
designed to convey. She understood, with rapid comprehension, the full
tenour of this commencing oration; but the entrance of a servant, who
came to say that a messenger had just arrived on horseback at full
speed, bringing a letter which he had orders not to confide to any
other hands than those of Mr. or Mrs. Hartland, offered an opportunity
which Zorilda instantaneously seized to glide out of the room, and
snatching up her straw hat as she passed quickly through the hall, she
flew into the open air to give free vent to feelings too agonizing to
be suppressed, too proud to be revealed, to her who had excited them.
"Break not yet, poor heart," said Zorilda aloud, as she gained her
favourite solitude; "such tumult of the soul can find no place in
Heaven, whither all my thoughts should bend. _There_ all is peace,
celestial peace! Oh, she is a skilful archer; every arrow is securely
aimed, every poisoned shaft is winged unerringly. Did she not say that
"childish things are to be laid aside?" and what _so_ childish as love
for the nameless, friendless, orphan-gipsey? I understand it all too
well, yet why _too_ well? Ungrateful that I am! Shall I repine that I
am enabled to perceive the dangers which beset my path? and do I call
myself unfriended while the spirit of her who so lately blessed me
with almost a mother's tenderness, still hovers here? Yes, in this
spot used we to hold sweet counsel. Here did I listen to the soothing
voice of comfort, here taste the balm of sacred wisdom as from her
lips distilled the pure stream of divine instruction, which poured
daily on my ear. Though absent, she shall teach me still, and I will
pray in the silence of this fragrant breeze, to that Being who is
never deaf to the supplicant's cry."
What breast unvitiated by the artificial world is not alive to the soft
influence of nature, and what soul ever sought its God in sincerity and
humiliation without finding relief? Zorilda rose from the mossy shrine,
strengthened, refreshed, consoled, and sitting down where she had knelt
before, exclaimed with fervour, "Remember Drumcairn!" "Those were her
parting words as she folded me to her bosom. Yes, I will remember, and
with thankfulness, that there is yet an earthly asylum for Zorilda." A
slight rustling amongst the branches which formed a screen behind where
she sat, and threw their protective shade over her head, disturbed her
meditations; and starting up she looked around, but could only discover
by an increased movement of the leaves, that something had brushed
through them.
"What a fool I am!" said she; "shall I fear my old and faithful
companions, and start at a bird? But hah! what is here? a letter, and
for me!" She seized the paper with trembling haste, and casting a timid
glance around, hurried breathlessly back to the shrubbery from which
she had strayed, and closed its gate before she dared venture to break
the seal, and read the following lines:
"ZORILDA,
"There is one at least in the world who asks not '_Who is she?_'
but who knows you to be virtuous, lovely, and unhappy; one who can
behold in you the pedigree of a noble soul, whencesoever it be
derived; who has gazed more than once unseen upon your streaming
eyes uplifted in prayer to Heaven; and listened to those sighs
which rend your heart, yet without intrusion on your sorrows. The
friend who now addresses you, has not taken advantage of his
situation to possess himself of your secrets, if you have any
which you desire should be unrevealed, and his motive in thus
alarming, is to warn you against dangers which threaten your
peace. Walk no more beyond the enclosure of your shrubbery, till
you bear from your unknown guardian that you are safe in doing so;
and rely on the fidelity of one, who cannot tell you more at
present than that he is devoted to your interests, over which he
watches with constant vigilance. Beware of wandering by moonlight,
and alone."
Zorilda was nearly overcome with terror and astonishment. Unused to
consider herself an object of interest to any one, the liveliest
gratitude would have possessed her unsuspecting heart, if the dread of
some impending ill did not predominate over every calmer feeling. From
whence came the warning which she had just received? It was not the
hand-writing of Mr. Playfair, and if it were, why should he be thus
mysterious? He would have pointed explicitly to the approaching danger,
and as openly advised the best means of avoiding it. This anonymous
intimation was perhaps itself a snare; yet it prescribed caution, and
seemed to be dictated by truth and kindness.
"What shall I do? Oh whither shall I turn for counsel?" said Zorilda.
"If I tell Mr. Hartland, what profit will accrue? He cannot lock me up,
nor place a guard in attendance on my steps. Mrs. Hartland would call
me a heroine of romance, and I should be derided, ridiculed, insulted.
What a time is this to have lost the true friends who would have been
my pilots! But God is every where, He will direct me, if with a single
heart, I implore His heavenly guidance."
The sound of hasty footsteps put an end to Zorilda's reflections. She
folded the paper quickly, over which she had been musing, and had
scarcely time to conceal it, when Rachel, a faithful domestic already
introduced to the reader, ran towards her, out of breath--
"Miss Zoé, Miss Zoé, make no delay; my mistress is calling for you, and
angry that you cannot be found. Master is from home too; not expected
till dinner, which is ordered an hour later than usual, and we have
been put into a great flutterment by news at the house; but I am not to
tell you any thing about it, only to find, and send you in, without
loss of time."
Zorilda trembled so exceedingly, that she could hardly obey the
summons, and immediately concluded, that whatever circumstances had
occurred in her absence, bore some reference to the mysterious
communication which had been made to her. Bewildered by the variety of
alarms which thronged upon her mind, she advanced with breathless
agitation, and having reached the house, heard Mrs. Hartland's voice
loudly employed in giving directions to have a horse saddled, and a
servant in readiness to set off in quest of her husband, who had gone
that morning to attend a board of magistrates at some distance from
Henbury.
Zorilda, pale as death, gained the apartment from whence she heard
these orders issuing, and felt sinking with apprehension and
exhaustion, when she was met by a countenance in which exultation,
impatience, resentment, and solicitude struggled for mastery.
"Where is it that you hide yourself in this unfeeling manner?" said
Mrs. Hartland, with impetuous eagerness. "Is it not too provoking that
I should be left alone, and that nobody can be found in a moment of
such agitation as the present. Lord Marchdale lies at the point of
death. He has had a paralytic stroke, and is speechless. Mr. Humphries,
the head steward, who has long been in our interests, has sent off an
express to give secret intelligence of the event; and here, by the most
unlucky chance imaginable, my son is far away, and I know not how to
direct to him. Mr. Hartland, who hardly ever leaves home, is absent;
and even you too are moping idly in some hole or corner, and can
nowhere be found. _You_ have no personal interest, it is true, in
the matter, but it is intolerable that you should be out of the way
when my hand shakes so that I cannot hold a pen."
The harshness, as well as unreasonableness, of this attack, repelled
the softer sympathies of Zorilda's heart, which were ever ready at the
call of affection; and summoning as much firmness as she could command,
she calmly replied,
"Madam, as you had no cause to anticipate this event, you would have
been the first to censure Mr. Hartland's indolence, had he neglected
the business which engages him this morning; and as to me, I am not
aware of disobeying your commands in taking a walk at no great
distance from the house. I am ready now, though _my_ hand is not very
steady, to write as you shall dictate."
"I shall remember your insolent coldness," said Mrs. Hartland; "write
directly to Mr. Humphries, thank him in my name for the zeal which
_he_ has shewn in our affairs, desire him to keep a strict eye
over the property, and to refuse admittance to all interlopers,
and----"
"Oh," interrupted Zorilda, "do not accuse me of that which is foreign
from my nature. Can any good or evil happen at Henbury in which I do
not share? Are you not my benefactors? But you reject my sympathy with
disdain, and then reproach me for the want of it. Let me prove how much
I feel upon the present occasion by conjuring you not to commit
yourself by writing such a letter as you propose to the steward. If, as
I have heard you say, Mr. Hartland is heir to the estates, as well as
to the title of Marchdale, you will owe nothing to the officiousness of
this Humphries; but should Lord Marchdale have had power over his
fortune, and exercised it to your disadvantage, how will this
precipitancy advance your claims, or redress the evil? Again, a
paralytic stroke is not always fatal. Lord Marchdale may recover, and
then you are at the mercy of a sycophant who may turn your impatience
to account with his master, and represent you in unfavourable colours,
to your future ruin. Let me return your acknowledgments for a letter
which you have opened in the absence of Mr. Hartland, and enter no
farther into the subject of it."
"You are right, Zoé; I forgive you," answered Mrs. Hartland; "make
haste, give a guinea to the messenger, see that he is properly taken
care of, and despatch him without delay."
Zorilda executed the task which her own good sense and delicacy had
suggested; but who can describe the state of her mind, when, having
performed her commission, she had time to reflect on her own situation,
rendered doubly precarious and painful, by the increased distance which
she perceived the near prospect of rank and fortune would place between
her and all she loved?
Mr. Hartland returned, and even his phlegmatic temperament was excited
by the news which awaited him. Visions of future greatness now
absorbed the attention of him and his wife, though they took various
hues, according with the difference of their characters. Mr. Hartland
shewed no impatience, but, assuming a sort of sullen pomp, seemed to
feel himself already in possession of the distinction which he
anticipated; while Mrs. Hartland, in an agony of "hope deferred,"
endured a perpetual fever of mind from the restlessness and impotent
activity of her disposition. Day after day passed without bringing
farther tidings, and the _final_ account from Marchdale-court was
necessary to allay those apprehensions which embittered her golden
dreams.
There is one character still more irritating than that of an _ex post
facto_ prophet, and that is a person who, not waiting for events,
begins, while they are yet pending, to foresee disastrous issues in
the interval between causes and effects, without casting a shadow of
blame upon themselves for having acquiesced in that very conduct, on
the failure of which their angry sagacity is afterwards employed too
late to prevent whatever may be its result. Mrs. Hartland was of this
description. The mob principle, that every one must be wrong who does
not glide with full sails before the wind, influenced all her
decisions of every kind; and though in the present case it was
obvious, that while Lord Marchdale _lived_ she could not receive the
joyful information of his _death_, she could not impute the silence of
Mr. Humphries to any other source than offence at the frigid style of
Zorilda's reply to his letter. "I _saw plainly_ how it would be. I
_knew_ that Mr. Humphries would be affronted. We have evidently lost a
friend who would have watched over our interests, and all because I
was too much agitated to write myself. I should have conciliated this
worthy man, and flattered his vanity with assurance of my entire
reliance on his zeal and discretion; but people who know nothing of
the world will put in a word of advice, and woe to all who give ear to
their stupid counsels."
To these, and such like taunts, Zorilda had to listen, whenever her
evil genius brought her within hearing of Mrs. Hartland's unceasing
complaints; which were now received with less submission by her
husband, as he began to feel himself rising in the scale of human
dignity, and remembered that it was through _him_ that the expected
honours were to come.
"For Heaven's sake," he would sometimes say, "let my relation die in
peace, my dear. Would you have Mr. Humphries administer a dose of
poison to hasten your victim out of the world, in order to accommodate
your ambition?"
"Mr. Hartland you are becoming insufferable. Your torpor is more
exasperating than the rage of a lion. I am sure, were it not for the
sake of posterity, I wish that your relation may recover, and keep you
out of an earldom which you are not fit for, and have too little
feeling to value. My _son_, however, will one day grace a coronet
of which his father is little worthy."
"I suppose that you would kill me also, to make way for your idol,"
retorted Mr. Hartland; "but we may all prove too tough for your wishes.
Mind, I tell you that a paralytic stroke is not always a stroke unto
death; and you may be punished yet for committing murder in your heart,
if not with your hands. Take my advice, good lady, and keep yourself
cool; or in vulgar phrase, do not reckon your chickens before they are
hatched."
This was a new style of dialogue at Henbury, and exceedingly shocked
the gentle Zorilda; who, endeavouring to forget her own anxieties as
much as possible, tried every effort in her power to soften these
asperities and mediate between the belligerent parties, who never had
quarrelled till now, when they seemed upon the eve of attaining the
grand object of their common wishes.
"How strange the effect of what the world calls prosperity!" exclaimed
this child of nature, when relieved from the irksome society of those
with whom it was her lot to drag the heavy hours. "Who would desire to
possess a few ideal distinctions, brief as shadowy, at the expense of
all that is dear to the heart?"
Zorilda was debarred the luxury, not denied to many in this age, of
communicating her thoughts to a distant friend. The power of purchasing
this gratification was more than she could command, so entire was her
dependence; and even if it had been permitted her to correspond with
Mrs. Gordon, the necessity of shewing every line which she either wrote
or received, would have neutralized the privilege.
"Let me thank God," said she, "that I have still the power of thought;
still the blessed boon of self-communion left; and, oh may I use the
gift to profit! examine my heart, probe its most secret recesses, and
cultivate resignation to the will of Him who sees it good that I should
be thus severely tried!"
When aspirations such as these would escape her lips, a bright gleam of
hope sometimes succeeded, and painted Algernon in all the bloom of
youthful joy, returning to the home of his happy childhood; called
thither to embellish a higher sphere, elate with glad prospects, and
placed in possession of power to shed happiness in every smile. Spite
of every effort to repress the fond dreams of imagination, they would
sometimes, too, indulge in weaving a golden future for herself. If
Algernon had ceased to love, why did his letters still breathe the
honied accents of a sentiment which he might pretend to forget? Was it
generous to doubt his truth because his words were few? Was it
reasonable to expect more lavish demonstration of an attachment so
constrained by circumstances? Arrived at full age, and raised to
dignity and independence, might he not prevail with his parents to
enter into his views?
Thoughts such as these were too welcome not to force their way, and if
Zorilda had inclination, she wanted strength to banish them always from
her mind. A secret feeling would even picture the pleased surprise with
which Algernon would hear her voice, already flexible and melodious,
now improved by science and cultivation, and accompanied by the "mellow
minstrelsy" of a Spanish guitar, on which Mrs. Gordon's tasteful
tuition had rendered her a proficient.
How lovely was the expression of that eloquent eye! How touching the
sounds which flowed from those ruby lips when hope's delightful
inspirations came o'er her mind,
"Like the sweet south
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour."
At length the time arrived which was to realize or blast the timid
promises of faithful love; and on the same day, the evening of which
was to be blessed by Algernon's return, the dawn was ushered in by an
express to announce the death of Lord Marchdale.
Suspense and irritation had brought Mrs. Hartland's mind to a state of
quiescence through exhaustion, without effecting any improvement of
temper. On the contrary, the spirit of bickering against her husband
was ready as before, on the present occasion, and broke out into the
following fretful complaint:
"Ay! when one is worn out with expecting, here comes this empty title
at last; but not a word about the estates. As to the coronet, that was
a thing of course, and no gratitude is due on that score; but if the
property is left away, it would be much better that the title had gone
along with it. You have always neglected my advice, Mr. Hartland, or we
should not be indebted now to back-stairs informers for what we ought
to know ourselves. It is ten to one but you have ruined the fortunes of
your son by your indolent supineness."
"Can you not wait till the dead are buried?" answered the exasperated
husband. "Did any mortal, but yourself, ever hear of prying into a will
before the body is laid in the grave? even the commonest decencies of
life are violated by your rapacity."
"Pretty language, _indeed_," replied the ruffled dame; "but you may
find, bye and bye, that my '_rapacity_,' or prudence, or whatever else
you may please to call it, may have saved you from a jail."
Each party quitted the room by opposite doors in no very harmonious
frame of mind; yet, spite of ill humour with each other, they were
irresistibly excited by the intelligence just received. Men are said to
be but "children of a larger growth," and certain it is that we should
often be ashamed to confess to the world how a bauble can charm our
imaginations.
Mr. Hartland was met, on quitting the apartment, by eager faces of
attempted condolence and congratulation, mingled with the slavish
wonder and submissiveness generated in vulgar minds by sudden accession
of rank. The servants and dependants were peeping on tip-toe, shoving
each other backwards and forwards to catch the first glimpse of their
master, and see whether he looked differently from his former self,
since he had become a great lord; but the dread of discovering how much
he was pleased with his new dignity, as also a certain fear of upstart
claims which might at least be vexatious, and delay its attainment,
induced him to refrain from his usual ride, and issue orders that no
one should address him by any other than the ordinary appellation, till
his return from Marchdale-court, for which place it would be necessary
that he and his son should set out on the following day.
Mrs. Hartland gratified the people and herself by going out into the
shrubbery, garden, farm-yard, etcetera; and wherever she could find a
human being to greet her with the delightful sounds of "my Lady," and
"your ladyship," she condescended to expatiate on the lofty
acquirements which had descended on her house. One old woman, in the
effervescence of her zeal and ignorance, styled her "your Majesty,"
which flattered so bewitchingly, that the salutation scarcely seemed
ridiculous.
The express of the morning produced a very different effect on Zorilda,
whose agitation was sufficient for her delicate frame, without this
increase. These new honours had no charm for her, but seemed to raise a
barrier in her path. Algernon was no longer Algernon; she was to meet
Lord Hautonville, and a chill came over her heart as she tried to
practise the unwonted and unwished-for sounds. Then the object of her
soul's dearest attachment was to be snatched from her eyes, almost in
the moment of meeting them: and though the recollection of her own
danger was the last consideration to present itself, yet when
remembrance of the letter which she had in her possession forced upon
her mind a consciousness of the defenceless condition in which a few
hours would leave her, she shuddered with terror of she knew not what,
but felt such instinctive repugnance to proclaim her fears, and the
cause of them, that she resolved, under accumulating difficulty, still
to place her sole trust in that merciful assistance, the support of
which her heart began to acknowledge experimentally in moments of
trial.
"Oh! will not one look repay me for all this uneasiness, if it beams
with the affection of dear old times; and why do I admit these mean
doubts to overwhelm me? I will cast them from me, and sit musing here
no longer!"
So saying, Zorilda started from her reverie, and ran to put the last
finish to her little preparations, by dressing every part of the house
with fresh gathered flowers. After which she culled a bunch of
----"Valley Lilies, whiter
Than Leda's love;"
with which to decorate her marble brow, and had scarcely ended her
simple toilette, when carriage wheels were heard. Mr. and Mrs.
Hartland, followed by the servants, hastened to the hall. Zorilda, with
beating heart, blanched cheek, and trembling knees, lingered on the
stairs, unable to move, but the first accents of the well-known voice
were, "Where is Zoé?" The vital glow re-animated her countenance, and
in a few short seconds she was folded in the arms of Algernon.
Never was the meeting of two lovers more rapturous. Zorilda's innocent
and confiding nature tasted such blessed assurance in this joyful
instant, as repaid an age of keenest anguish, while Algernon's
astonished gaze, seemed to declare that no such loveliness had ever
burst upon his senses, as met his eyes in the modest, yet dazzling
beauty of her on whom they now were rivetted.
Zorilda drew back, surprised in her turn by the changes which time had
wrought. Algernon was a perfect model of manly grace, and all the easy
elegance and polish of fashionable society were added to the native
symmetry which distinguished his appearance. A reproachful call from
Mrs. Hartland, quickly interrupted this short-lived transport of
uncertain bliss. Alas! it was never to return. Zorilda loved, and was
beloved; but, she knew not why, she had not the same pleasure which she
formerly felt in Algernon's company. There was a fire in his manner of
looking at her, and a bold familiarity in his mode of address, which
discomposed her, and made her desire to shrink into herself, without
being able to explain to her own breast the reason why she did so.
While he was summoned to hear the story of his altered fortunes, she
threw herself, exhausted by the variety of her emotions, into a chair
near a window, that opened on a trellised alcove, which she had
carefully entwined with every sweet climber that perfumes the garden,
to breathe a welcome for him she loved. Bursting into an agony of
tears, she looked upon her work and exclaimed:
"Flowers! you have lost your fragrance. The simple joys of nature are
no longer here. They are become 'dim recollected feelings of the days
of youth and early love.' Dreamer! thy doom is sealed! What has Zorilda
in common with the world's attractions? Algernon is lost to me! Yes,
these are not the looks of Algernon! Why do I turn abashed from the
companion of my childhood?"
Zorilda's meditations were interrupted by a summons from Mr. Hartland,
who informed her that he must leave Henbury early on the following day,
and desired to commit several matters of importance to her care during
his absence. Dinner succeeded, and the evening was chiefly occupied in
preparations of one kind or other for the ensuing journey; but
notwithstanding the vigilance of Mrs. Hartland, and her constant
endeavour to monopolize her son, he found opportunity from time to
time, to say a few words in secret to Zorilda.
"Keep up your spirits, Zoé; you shall be Lady Hautonville one of these
days! I am resolved upon it, so do not be frightened; but we have much
to do, and you have much to learn. You must be _schooled_ for the new
order of society which you are about to enter. Nothing can be more
unlike the world than your present style of manners, dress, appearance.
_My_ wife can never be such a country lassie as you are; but I will
have you put in the right way. I know a charming person, La Baronne de
Torsi, who will be happy to do me a kindness. She will have pleasure in
forming you to the standard of good taste. The materials, my Zoé, are
perfect, but you want the air, the fashion, the indispensable tone of
society, which you could not attain in this wretched place. What a pair
are these poor old souls, my father and mother! They seem to have the
year _one_, printed in large letters on every look, word, and gesture.
We must bury them in the woods at Marchdale-court, while you and I
figure away on the theatres of glorious France and Italy. I am sick of
Old England's roast beef, and find nothing good or agreeable off the
Continent. Good night, my lovely Zo; we will make all our arrangements
on my return from this horrible funeral."
Algernon wished to seal these words, which were but jarring sounds to
Zorilda's ear, by a kiss, but she turned, and hastily disengaging her
hand from his, flew to the sanctuary of her chamber, there to reflect,
through a sleepless night, upon the miseries of her destiny.
"La Baronne de Torsi! a stranger, a foreigner; _she_ to form my mind,
my manners, my tastes anew, to the frivolous and artificial? I will
have no such monitress. Is this the language of true love? I know it
not by these signs. There is no prison, however dreary, no wilderness
however wild, into which Zorilda would not accompany the being whom she
loved, to suffer pain and privation, and if not permitted her to
shield, yet still to share each pang, would be her bosom's joy; but
thus scorned, thus disdained, it must not, cannot be."
Morning came, and found the poor mourner still a prey to the tortures
of wounded sensibility. Mr. Hartland and his son were to set out so
early, that she was spared the humiliation of shewing how much power
Algernon possessed over her affections. As he went down stairs he
knocked at Zorilda's door, and slipped a bit of paper underneath, on
which were hastily written, with a pencil, the following words:
"In the tumult of yesterday's meeting, I forgot to warn you against
receiving any communication, either by letter or visit, from any one
till my return. _Addio, carissima, Algernon_."
"Hah!" thought Zorilda, "Can this be the explanation? Is Algernon the
unseen guardian who has been watching over me, and to whose friendly
care I have been indebted for avoiding danger, though I know not of
what nature? But no: the letter which I received is not in his
hand-writing, and the sentiments which it expresses, so full of
delicate consideration for the unhappy Zorilda, are alas! little in
unison with the language of yesterday evening, which still echoes
through my heart. Nothing but mystery appears to surround me whichever
way my eyes are directed."
On meeting Mrs. Hartland in the breakfast-parlour, Zorilda's looks too
plainly bespoke the state of her mind to leave a doubt of what she
endured. A few constrained questions and answers broke the rigid
silence which would otherwise have marked this unsocial meeting.
Mrs. Hartland rang the bell, and ordering the tea things to be taken
away, desired her young companion to wait her return; and quitting the
room, left Zorilda in new perplexity at what was next to happen.
Mrs. Hartland re-appeared in a few minutes, bringing an ink-stand and
paper in her hand. Shutting the door, and laying these upon a table,
she ordered Zorilda, in a stern voice, to sit down opposite to her,
with which the latter having complied, she proceeded to unfold her
object.
"It is no longer possible," said Mrs. Hartland, "to be silent. The
time is come when it is necessary to explain my views, and come to an
open understanding with you. Your attachment to my son cannot be
mistaken, and I must tell you plainly, that it highly displeases Mr.
Hartland and me. _You_ should recollect our relative positions: you,
an unknown orphan, discovered, accidentally, in a gipsey camp, without
name, family, or pretensions; redeemed from the infamy of associating
with a lawless horde by the charity which brought you here, are finely
repaying the protectors of your childhood! Can you suppose, for a
moment, that because you were permitted during infancy to be the
companion of my son, and allowed, in after life to share the
instructions which were bestowed on him by Mr. Playfair; can you, I
repeat, imagine for a single instant that you were ever designed to be
his wife? Do you think that a pretty face is sufficient qualification
for the future Countess of Marchdale, or that Lord Hautonville's
parents would ever look upon him again, were the wiles of an artful
girl to betray his honourable mind into a remembrance of the boyish
vows which children make to each other before they comprehend the
nature of a promise? There is only one act by which you can ease my
mind, and restore yourself to that place in my regards from which, I
confess with regret, that you have fallen. Here are paper, pen, and
ink; I have never found you untrue, and shall depend with confidence
upon your written assurance, regularly signed, for my _full_
satisfaction, that from this moment, you not only renounce all
pretension to an alliance with my family; but should a romantic spirit
of chivalry induce Algernon to forget what he owes to himself, and his
father and mother, by offering his hand to you, that you here pledge
yourself solemnly to repel such proposals, and reject every advance on
the part of one whose death would be preferable, in my eyes to a
marriage inconsistent with his rank in society. I have now spoken
without reserve. You know my feelings, and if you are disposed to
gratify me by the sacrifice which I require, there is nothing which I
will leave undone to forward your interests. I will prevail on my son
to settle something handsome upon you. I will write to my friends, and
obtain some situation for you as soon as possible, in which your
talents may secure your future independence; or it may be, that when
you are seen and known out of this deep retirement, some suitable
match may present itself, and----"
Zorilda had resolved to hear out Mrs. Hartland's harangue in patient
silence, and restrain every emotion which it might excite; but though
she had prepared for want of kindness, she did not anticipate the
coarseness by which she had just been assailed. Notwithstanding every
effort, or rather, perhaps, because she exerted herself beyond her
powers, her eyes grew dim, her head became giddy, and she fell back
senseless in her chair.
When she revived from the state of insensibility into which she had
been thrown by the indelicacy of Mrs. Hartland's proceedings, she found
herself alone with Rachel, whose tender assiduity restored her
faculties once more. She had been removed to her apartment, and was
laid on her bed, from which she now rose in haste, and, dismissing her
faithful attendant with thanks, she summoned up all the resolution of
her character, entered Mrs. Hartland's dressing-room, where she found
that lady seated at her table, writing with perfect sang froid, and
calmly addressed her:
"Madam," said Zorilda, in a gentle but unfaltering voice, "I come to
give you an answer, which the accident of sudden indisposition has
delayed. I thank you for your care of my infant years. I am grateful
also for the asylum which I have since found under your roof. These
acknowledgments are all that I have to bestow, and I confess that they
are a poor remuneration for the favours which you have conferred upon a
hapless stranger."
"My dear girl," said Mrs. Hartland, interrupting the lovely but
unfortunate Zorilda, "you can make a return which will more than repay
me. Certainly I _have been_ every thing to you, and I am glad that you
appreciate as you ought to do that kindness which snatched you from
perils worse than death, and has cherished you ever since in the
enjoyment of every comfort. You have sense enough to be conscious that
you have not been a costless charge; but I only mention your _entire_
destitution, your dependence for every morsel of bread, every article
of clothing, protection, tenderness, education, companionship, only, I
say, to show how _greatly_ I shall estimate the act by which you, who
are aware of the extent of your obligations, are enabled at one stroke
of your pen to cancel them all. Here, my love, I have drawn up the
_promissory note_, as I may call it, which wipes off all scores
between us. Here, my dear, though you have no sirname, nor for the
matter of _that_, perhaps, Christian either, for you may have been
born amongst the Turks or the Jews, and never baptized at all, for any
thing that we can tell to the contrary; sign the three syllables,
Zorilda, whether given to you at the font or in the gipsey's camp, it
is all the same to me. Write your name in a fair hand, opposite to
this seal; declare it to be your act and deed; I will call Rachel to
witness the transaction, and our business is done; I demand no legal
forms, as my confidence in your truth----"
"Must be your only guarantee, Madam," replied Zorilda. "I will not sign
any document to resign possessions to which I lay no claim. Whatever
kindness may be manifested towards me during my pilgrimage on earth,
must be freely given and as freely received; but you need not dread me;
I will not requite ungratefully the obligations which I owe. If you
really confide in my truth, prove it by relying on what I say; and as
to my future fate, discharge your mind, I pray you, of all anxiety upon
that account. Grant me but a short time to make some trifling
arrangements for my departure, and you shall be satisfied in all
things. I can never be too thankful for the instructions which you
permitted me to derive from that much valued friend, Mr. Playfair, and
upon these I shall depend for being no longer a tax upon your bounty.
The God in whom I trust, will hear the orphan's prayer, and bless my
humble exertions."
"Then, Madam," answered Mrs. Hartland, "am I to understand, that you
refuse to sign the paper which I hold in my hand?"
"It is most reluctantly that I refuse to comply with any requisition of
yours," said Zorilda; "but I am determined not to sign that paper.
Possessing no rights, making no demand, I will not assume the merit of
renouncing that to which I do not assert a title. Were I bound by an
engagement such as terrifies you to anticipate, I should be unworthy of
the choice, undeserving of the affection with which I could basely
trifle, and of which I could thus make a cruel, cold, and heartless
surrender----"
"Quit my presence this instant, artful and unnatural girl," retorted
Mrs. Hartland: "If you are resolved not to comply with my reasonable
desire, I am equally so, that you shall not reap any harvest from your
obstinacy and disobedience. Quit me, I say, this moment, and do not
presume to leave your apartment. I give you one week to consider of
your conduct; if at the end of that time you repent of your behaviour
to me, and declare yourself ready to submit, all shall be forgotten;
but if you persevere in your present shameful resistance to my will and
pleasure, prepare to depart. I shall take measures in the interim for
your removal, and shall not consult your convenience as to the time or
manner of it."
Zorilda withdrew, and having gained her prison-chamber, laid her aching
head upon the pillow, revolving in her mind this crisis of her present
circumstances. The cup of sorrow seemed now filled to the brim; one
drop more, and it would overflow; and death, the last friend of
despair, would come, she thought, to her aid, and terminate her trials.
It was not the rigorous treatment which she had just experienced--it
was not confinement--that she deplored; on the contrary, solitude and
repose were as soothing as they were become necessary to her harassed
spirits; but the gentle, the affectionate Zorilda, had never till now
rebelled against the authority of her whom she still reflected on as
her benefactress; and she reproached herself with having inflicted
pain. Unaccustomed to resist, she wondered how she could have denied a
request of Mrs. Hartland's. Yet to yield was as repugnant to every
sentiment of love and delicacy as to every principle of truth and
honour. Here, then, was the final dissolution of all her airy dreams.
Here was the extinguishment of hope, the end of wishes, the last blow
to expectation.
"How merciful the 'blindness kindly given' which prevents us
penetrating the dark veil of future events!" exclaimed the meek
sufferer; "but the time is come. How little did I imagine it so close
at hand when the friendship of my beloved Mrs. Gordon is to be tried!
_Her_ friendship will not fail me in the hour of need!"
Zorilda was at a loss whether or not to apprise the family at Drumcairn
of her intentions by a letter which should precede her arrival in
Scotland, but after a short consideration determined against doing so.
Her departure, she felt, had become too necessary to leave any option,
and it was better not to hazard the possibility of Mrs. Gordon's
recommending her to postpone so adventurous an undertaking. Besides, if
her elopement were to excite a desire in those she left behind to trace
her retreat, inquiry would naturally be directed, in the first
instance, to the only quarter from which it might be supposed that
authentic information respecting her movements and designs might be
obtained. She therefore resolved on prosecuting her journey without
giving Mrs. Gordon any reason to expect her, certain as she felt of the
welcome that awaited her coming at all times in the breast of that true
friend.
Those only whose hearts are capable of such attachment as dwelt within
Zorilda's bosom can form any idea of the overwhelming grief with which
she contemplated bidding farewell to the scenes of her childhood, and
with them to every object round which her strong, but tender affection,
had entwined itself from earliest infancy; yet as misfortune had begun
to teach her the happy art which can draw good from apparent evil, as
the bee extracts honey from the vilest weeds, she felt glad that the
prohibition which forbade her usual exercise preserved her from the
pain of dwelling in detail on every leaf and flower associated with
fondest memory. "Mrs. Hartland's decree is a kind one," said she. "I
shall break my bonds at once, and not weaken resolution by re-visiting
those objects, which to gaze upon again would but enfeeble its powers.
Algernon--once beloved--oh _still_ beloved, must I tear _you_ from
this heart? _There_ is the sting; but the sacrifice shall be
finished."
Some days elapsed; Zorilda made an effort to occupy herself in
preparation for her intended flight. Rachel's watchful care ministered
all the consolation which kindness could impart, and through her
activity and address, the manner of the journey was planned with so
much circumspection, that nothing further remained to impede its
commencement. The approaching alterations in the establishment at
Henbury afforded Rachel an opportunity of disengaging herself from
further services as a domestic without exciting suspicion respecting
her future intentions; and having given notice to Mrs. Hartland that
she meant to leave her, she determined on accompanying Zorilda wherever
her fortunes might lead the way. At the end of a week, just as the
time was drawing near when some account might be expected from
Marchdale-court, Rachel, gliding softly into Zorilda's apartment with
a packet in her hand,
"This is for you, my dear young lady; but it is not the letter which
you were hoping for from the North."
Zorilda started, and remembering the caution which she had received
from Algernon at parting, concluded this to be the communication
against which he had warned her in the slip of paper which he thrust
under her door just before he left Henbury. She seized the packet with
tremulous eagerness. It was of large dimensions, and contained some
hard substance. Whence could it come? what could it be? were questions
which might well interest a girl of eighteen. Perhaps, if truth were
told, there are few of either sex or any age exempt from such a measure
of curiosity as would tempt to break the seal in such a case; but in
Zorilda's circumstances every trifle was raised into importance; even
the parcel which she held in her hand might elucidate her history and
influence her fate. Yet Algernon had bid her beware of receiving any
thing of this nature. He therefore knew whence it came, and if
advantageous to her, would he have advised her to return it unopened?
Certainly not, and he should find, that however he might conduct
himself in the end towards her, she would not begin by doubting either
his truth or kindness. After a moment's pause, she gave back the packet
to Rachel, who stood gaping with expectation, and longing for the
unfolding of its contents.
"Here, Rachel, I am afraid to open this. I know nothing of it, and
think that there is some mistake. It may be a parcel of Mrs.
Hartland's; it cannot be for me; at least I will inquire who sent it,
before I take off the packing."
"Lord ha' mercy, my dear child," answered Rachel, "did I not tell you
that it comes from your old and fast friend Mr. Playfair? I'm sure if I
did not, it was the joy I felt in bringing it to you, that made me
neglect to name him. I thought you would know all about it the minute
you set your two eyes upon the cover, and wondered to see you so slow
in coming at the inside."
"Thank heaven!" ejaculated Zorilda. "Here is assistance in the hour of
need. Here at least is sympathy, when my dejected spirit is cast down."
Tearing off the wrapping paper with eagerness, she found a letter,
directed to "My dear Pupil," in the well known hand of her tutor,
accompanied by a large packet without any address.
"This will explain the other," said Zorilda, "and comes, I know, from
one in whom I may confide. I will read his letter first. Now, dear
Rachel, leave me, and if I have any good news to communicate you may be
sure of hearing it. You are the only being here who will care to listen
to aught that affects me, and you shall not be kept long in ignorance."
Rachel quitted the room while Zorilda unfolded the letter, and to her
astonishment read as follows:
"I have, my dear child, always endeavoured to impress upon your
young heart a _practical_ belief in the God who watches over
His people. Your quick sensibility has been more inclined to
murmuring than thankfulness, and the apparent hardness of that
dispensation which left you like a fallen star, dropped from the
clouds upon earth without home or parents or worldly provision of
any kind, seemed to furnish excuse for the tardiness of your
submission; but, inasmuch as you have felt inclined to doubt the
care of an Almighty ruler, as relating to yourself, in such
proportion will you now assuredly pour out the incense of gratitude
and wonder, when you hear the tale which I have to unfold, and
ponder on those remarkable coincidences which render me the medium
of an accompanying packet, which I have taken means to convey by a
safe hand through which it will find its way to yours, without the
knowledge of any one at Henbury except the faithful Rachel. May
this interesting document, which I now send you, prove the
forerunner of future good, and may you experience as much
satisfaction in receiving as I feel in imparting it!
"I am yet to tell you how this packet most unexpectedly fell into
the possession of your old and affectionate friend. On my way to
Paris I lingered at Abbeville, with intention of revisiting those
haunts endeared to memory by our favourite Petrarch. While staying
at the inn a message was brought to me, saying that a dying
gentleman, who lived at no great distance, was desirous to speak
with me, and requested my immediate attention to his request. At a
loss to account for such an invitation, yet fearful of giving pain
to a fellow-creature in extremity, if I waited to make further
inquiry, I followed a servant who led the way, and in a few minutes
was introduced to the bedside of Colonel Dalton. He had a manly and
noble countenance, but appeared in the last stage of decline.
Fixing his fine expressive eyes, which were lighted by that meteor
gleam which burns brightest on the confines of the tomb, upon my
face, as if to read my character there--he extended his emaciated
hand, and said, with a feeble voice,
"'I thank you Sir. This is an act of kindness which will relieve my
mind, and soothe the last moments of a departing spirit. Since I
have been sensible that my hour is at hand, and that I shall never
leave this place, the packet which I am now going to give into your
care, has been subject of deep solicitude to me. I lately sent a
faithful servant, on whose integrity I could have relied for its
safe delivery--to prepare my sister, who lives in Sussex, for my
arrival--but Heaven has ordered otherwise. I reached Abbeville a
few days ago, attended only by my groom, whom I have not known long
enough to depend upon. This packet contains some property of value,
and a narrative which I drew up years ago. These are of the deepest
interest to a young and lovely Spaniard who resides somewhere in
England, with a family of the name of Hartland. The only name I
know for her is Zorilda, but I do not mean to trouble you with
seeking her out. Convey this, together with a box which I shall
commit to your keeping, to my sister, Lady Carleton, whose address
I will give you. She will do the rest, if you explain my wishes now
expressed to you. You will greatly oblige me by this act of
benevolence. Strength fails me. Your countenance inspires belief
that you will fulfil the sacred trust which I repose in you. I am a
soldier, and honour is the soldier's bond.'
"He grew faint. I gave him some reviving drops, which were at hand,
and, after promising to execute his commission with my best zeal,
proceeded at intervals, as he could listen to the recital, to
inform him of the extraordinary providence which had thrown in his
way the very person of all others most suited to his purpose. He
was much struck with the detail which I gave him, and during three
succeeding days entirely devoted to him, I had the satisfaction of
holding such conversation, as, with the blessing of Heaven upon its
motive, I have good reason to believe deprived death of its sting.
I took charge of his will, and other papers of value, for his
family. He expired without a struggle, and having stayed to attend
his mortal remains to the tomb, I travelled back to perform my vow.
Having seen Lady Carleton, I have discharged my mission as far as
regards her; but send your parcel, of which I made no mention to
her ladyship, by a sure conveyance to your own hands. On my return
to England (for I am once more setting out for the Continent) I
hope to see you. Having now fortified your mind, I trust, by the
proof which I send you of your Heavenly Father's care, I feel it my
duty to put that faith and confidence, which such assurance ought
to inspire, to a severe test, by communicating intelligence of
another kind; but I should not be your true friend were I to
suppress what has come to my knowledge; and through a cowardly
dread of inflicting a present pang, incur the danger of
contributing, by my silence, to your far greater suffering at a
future day.
"I am too well acquainted, my dear Zorilda, with the human heart,
and the signs by which its feelings are naturally expressed, to be
ignorant of the attachment which sprang up under my own observation
between Algernon and you. I beheld its rise and progress, and
lamented what I was unable to prevent. I knew the dissimilarity of
your characters, and the difference of those motives by which you
were severally actuated. Algernon, selfish and domineering from his
birth, regarded no object except inasmuch as it increased the sum
of his own gratification. You were ever generous, affectionate, and
disinterested. Such disparity I was well aware could never produce
a happy union; but I had no means of averting the perils which I
foresaw. Events have confirmed my presages, and Algernon's career
since he left home has been marked by an utter dereliction of every
principle with which I vainly sought to imbue his mind. It is with
grief I inform you that his extravagance and dissipation have
arrived at a fearful height, and the last account which I have
heard of him, is the worst. Overwhelmed with debt, for the payment
of which his future prospects are pledged beyond, it is said, what
the estates of Marchdale, if bequeathed to him, can liquidate,
burthened as they are already; he has supplied present necessities
by borrowing at usurious interest, till, on the failure of even
this ruinous resource, he has condescended to receive pecuniary
assistance from an opera singer, to whom many people believe that
he is married, and in whose company he is gone to England.
"Whatever be the nature of the tie which binds Algernon to such
society, it is your part, my child, to wean your affections from a
man who is unworthy of them. The effort will be painful, but it is
necessary to your peace."
"Farewell, my dear young friend, may you be sustained through every
trial of life, by the divine protection," &c. &c. &c.
Zorilda's emotions as she concluded Mr.
Playfair's letter, may be imagined but cannot
be described. Surprise, curiosity, grief, and
indignation took alternate possession of her
mind. The packet accompanying the letter was
still unopened. What mysterious interference
of Providence in her behalf could it contain,
and coming too from a stranger's hand, that
should call forth her gratitude to God? She
broke the seals and found an agate box with a
roll of paper inscribed,
"A TRUE NARRATIVE."
Laying the former aside, she read as follows: